Other Plans
by Jessa L'Rynn
Summary: The Doctor's in trouble and Rose is only trying to help him. Her plan goes awry, but the Doctor makes sure she's fine with that.


**Other Plans**

_Life is what happens to you while you were busy making other plans_  
-John Lennon

With a final huff that is part stress, part frustration, Rose manages to get the Doctor right where she needs him to be.

He seems to think so, too, and that isn't helping one bit. "Will you quit it?" she demands, glowering fiercely down at the man in her bath tub.

Whatever he babbles in reply doesn't make one damn bit of sense, which is only to be expected, she supposes. She stands on her toes, intent on pulling down the shower wand, her only goal being very nearly opposite of the Doctor's at the moment, apparently. He's gone right back to trying to do what he'd been told off for not five seconds ago. Only, this time, he succeeds. "Get your fingers out of my knickers right this instant, or I swear I'll never let you in 'em again."

Rose is lying. They both know this and if he could understand a word she's saying, right now, she knows she could look down and see a devilish, smoldering smirk just to emphasize the point.

The Doctor's tongue runs up the inside of her thigh.

Great, so he understands English, he just can't speak it. Brilliant. Rose leans over, determined to ignore him - yeah right - and carry on with what needs to be done. She turns on the water - who cares about the temperature - and switches it to the shower.

The Doctor yelps what is probably a series of extremely rude expletives, his hands fumbling for her. He finally succeeds in latching onto her skirt as she turns the water on his hair. He doesn't manage to drag her down with him, but he does get her skirt off and that seems to suit him just fine.

He peers at it, fascinated for a moment, then licks it with a bemused expression on his face. Rose wants to die of embarrassment and would, except it's the Doctor, and they put up with the most completely incredible shit from each other, really. He wrinkles his nose finally and, apparently finding her skirt wanting, he chucks it, soaking wet, across the room.

She'll be cleaning in here for days.

He tries to get up and she shoves him down with a hand on his shoulder, and points the spray at his face. He bellows something more reminiscent of his last body than this one, but he only gets water in his mouth for his pains.

"Don't swallow it," Rose orders. "Spit." He looks up at her with chipmunk cheeks and she repeats herself. "Spit. It's nasty." She makes a face to see if she can get through to him. He swishes it around in his mouth a bit, decides he agrees with her after all, and makes a bright green water fountain as he tilts his head back and shoots the water towards her through pursed lips.

Her alien lover is nine hundred, going on four, and not many Earth girls can say that. Thankfully, he misses her with the tainted spray. She is immune anyway, but she's not sure her bottle blonde will survive if this stuff mixes with it. She's seen people with chlorine hair before. Not pretty.

It takes her ten minutes and a bit of negotiation to get as much of the gunk off the Doctor as she can with him still in his clothes. The symptoms don't appear to be improving and now he's starting to drop off. The Merifraxi Shaman who helped her rescue the Doctor and levitated him back here warned her that she mustn't let him sleep no matter what she has to do to prevent it.

It also warned her to make sure every single item of his clothing was burned. She's so not looking forward to that, but she's just glad it's the brown suit only, not the overcoat and, horror of horrors, not the leather jacket. She'd've had to kill him to take his leather jacket away from him. She wonders if she'll have to murder him to get him out of his trainers.

She replaces the shower head, turns up the temperature on the water, and straddles the Doctor's thighs in the bath. He wakes right up, in more ways than one, and his hands are on her hips. He mutters something guttural and alien, but she recognizes this - she's heard it before. "Take off your shirt," Rose requests suggestively.

She's not about to shag him in the bath tub while he's half dead from alien plant digestive fluid, but he doesn't have to know that, does he? Definitely not when the idea seems to please him immensely.

Unfortunately, he's not coherent enough to get out of any of his clothes, and they're covered in the plant goo. The buttons are welded together. Deciding it's just as well as she's going to have to destroy the suit anyway, Rose makes fists in the front of his dress shirt. With a rough tug, she rips the shirt open. Small, pearly buttons fly everywhere. She'll have to chase them later unless they end up in the plumbing, but she'll survive.

He's being very helpful now, after all, ripping open the cuffs at his wrists and dragging dress shirt and t-shirt off over his head, and why does he have to layer everything? She's going to miss the tie, she thinks, as she slings the clothes to the other end of the tub so she can sort them later.

The Doctor's got his hands up under her shirt and, sighing, she shrugs it off. What the hell, it's got alien plant goo on it, too. She'll never wear it again, even if cleaning it would do it any good, which the Shaman assured her it would not.

Rose's hands fall to his waist and the Doctor's growling at her, his hands holding hers steady. Good thing she already knew about that - wake a Time Lord out of a sound sleep to get some use out of the erection he's pressing against your bum and it's amazing what sorts of noises he makes - or it might have alarmed her. "Please?" she says, eyes wide and, she hopes, brilliantly wicked.

He sighs, defeated, and tears open his trousers for her. She grins and drags them down, and he makes a chuffing noise as he kicks off his trainers. Such a helpful thing, sometimes. He reaches to pull her back where he wants her - the rather impressive evidence that he's enjoying this, even if she isn't - but Rose is ready for him and wiggles out of his grip. He reaches up and drags her knickers down, and gives her an innocent little grin when she glares at him.

In retaliation, and because it needs to be done, she climbs out of the tub. While the Doctor mutters a complaint, Rose snatches the shower head, lowers the water temperature again, and starts scrubbing the Doctor with a body mop she'd prepared back before she managed to sling him in here. She's soaping him up and dowsing him in cold water, and he's cursing her in words that would make a sailor blush, provided the sailor knew extinct languages and alien dialects.

Then, she apparently finds something - have to go looking for that again, later - because he stops cursing and starts arching his body into her touch, reaching for her, moaning. "Rose," he complains, when she still won't touch him with anything but the sponge, which is a very good sign. However, the suds are still coming up green in some places, so they're not done yet.

"Stand up," Rose requests.

The Doctor hesitates to comply, so she climbs in with him and replaces the shower wand where it belongs. He grins and takes her hands, and she's helping him up. For all of five seconds, and then he's somehow already on his feet, seizing her lips and snogging her like there's nothing else he'd rather do. Ever.

Well, except try to squirm into a position where he can do more than tease himself with the tip of his cock rubbing at her clit and how'd he even pull that off? Rose gasps, pulling away from the kiss, and looks up to see his eyes closed, his tongue caught between his teeth in concentration.

She looks down and he's got his hand wrapped around his shaft, guiding the subtle movements she can feel, against her sex _and_ all the way down to her feet. The sight is almost more than she can stand and it's a good thing he stole her pants or they'd be soaked now even without the water. His long lashes flutter and then he looks down at her, through eyes as dark as the space he takes her flying through - in more ways than one. "Rose," he whispers, and it's another good sign, but the fact that he's making it impossible to concentrate and making her weak in the knees besides is not.

"D...Doctor," she whispers back. Oh, but it'd be easier just to buck in to him, raise her thigh up around his hip... "St... stop. I need to do your back, too."  
He stares down at her, his gaze lust-drunk and heavy-lidded. Then, he grins and she doesn't think she's ever seen a filthier expression on his face. Not even in her dreams, and that's definitely saying something. He pulls away from her, his nose in the air, a pout forming on his lips.

Ignore him, Rose tells herself firmly. He's doing it on purpose. Well, as close to purpose as he can manage at the moment, anyway. When she doesn't react, the Doctor groans a little and starts grumbling in something that she thinks might be Latin. But he does turn his back on her.

At first, as Rose scrubs the last of the lurid green slime off the Doctor, she suspects he's just trying to wiggle his bum at her for his own entertainment. It's only when she gets down to his hips that she notices a distinct rhythm to the rocking motion. "Started without me," she complains quietly, and takes the sponge to his bum anyway.

He likes that and the intensification of his rhythm serves as proof, along with quite a bit of whimpering and muttering of her name. She drops to her knees behind him, finishes with his long, shapely legs. It's not fair for a man to have legs this gorgeous, really, she thinks. She also thinks she's going to get him for this when he's back in his right mind.

"I'm gonna tie you to the bed," she threatens. How that's gonna help her, she doesn't know, but she's already decided she'll figure that out once she's got him subject to her will.

The Doctor turns around and his eyes are blazing down at her. His hand is quite busy at the moment, stroking lightly but with determined focus up and down the length of his cock. His thumb is caressing the highly sensitive under side, complicating the rhythm with a gentle side to side motion that he didn't even know he liked until she found it for him. "Rose..." he murmurs, his voice and his motion compelling her eyes, inviting her lips.

"Let's get you out of the bath," she mutters.

"Rose," he insists. She looks up, up, up the whole long, slender line of his torso, into his eyes peering down at her. He's gotten so much closer, now, and he's back under the spray, so the chill water is coursing over his body, cool enough to give even the Doctor goose bumps. With a tentative touch, he glides the head of his cock over her lips, leaving a syrupy trail of his pre-cum tingling at the edge of her taste.

Rose wants more than anything to let her tongue slip out to wet her suddenly parched lips. She's afraid if she does, she'll forget her mission, and if she doesn't, he's going to see it as rejection in his addled state. "Bed," she whispers, and the Doctor shivers as the syllable breathes over his swollen tip.

"Want you so much," he grates out.

Which is a complete sentence, almost, and a fantastic sign. Maybe once she gets rid of his clothes, she can join him in bed and keep him awake for the prescribed eight hours by getting rid of this boiling ache he's causing between her legs. "Bed," she repeats, tilting her head back to let him see her desperation in her eyes. "Please."

He nods and finally backs off, sort of anyway, dragging her up to kiss her until she just wants to wrap her legs around his waist and let him take her right against the chilly shower tiles. Instead, she breaks the kiss, stepping out of the bath and then backing out of the room three steps at a time.

By the time they reach her bed, the Doctor is wearing a thoroughly frustrated expression. He is not, however, wearing the towel she gave him in the bathroom doorway (he used it on his hair and then dropped it on the floor). He snags the front of Rose's towel as she stops for just a second too long, pulls it open, and uses it to drag her to him as he sinks down on the bed.

His mouth fastens onto her nipple, teeth grazing the tender skin, the pressure just threatening pain. Then, his tongue brushes where his teeth have been, a cool, wet apology. Rose tries to remind herself that the renewed coolness of his mouth is a good sign as well, but she can't remind herself why it matters, so she's having a hard time.

So is the Doctor, and Rose almost giggles at her own silent pun. He's managed to get her close to him, managed to find another way that he can tease her with the head of his cock - tease her and tease himself. However, he can't quite get the leverage he needs to get inside her, can't quite find a way to pull her close enough for the deep, intense, nerve-enflaming thrusts he usually prefers when he's got her above him.

Rose wants to climb on top of him and ride him until they're both screaming, until they're both too breathless from the pleasure to scream. "Please, Doctor," she begs him as his hands cup her bum, trying to bring her closer.

"Yes, Rose," he promises, every bit of him involved in that promise, if the way he feels now is anything to go by. He sinks back on the bed, pulling her with him, his erection like steel as he pushes against her.

She shakes her head, frustrated. She can't stop herself grinding her wet, dripping sex against his length. "God, please. Just... you have to let me finish this?" She doesn't mean it to be a question, but she can't seem to help that any more.

The Doctor frowns up at her. "Can we please finish this first?"

She blinks down at him in shock. "Doctor?"

"I'm fine," he says, releasing one of her hips so he can rake his hand through his hair. "Your friend told you how to treat it for their people who get an allergic reaction to the plant, not me. Once you got most of the digestive secretions off of me, my metabolism took care of the rest. And I have never come to from anything this aroused in my life, so can we please talk about this later?" His hands glide to her back and her neck, pulling her head down so he can seize her lips in a searing, potent, aggressive kiss, staking his claim on her mouth and, through her mouth, every piece of her.

When he lets her go, Rose realizes quickly that she's rocking against his cock, sliding her slick sex up and down the length of him, needing him inside her to push her over the edge. She's already so close, it's ridiculous. Still, she tries to think this through with all three of the brain cells he's left her. "Just in case, don't go to sleep," she says finally.

The Doctor moans low in his throat, grabs her hips, lifts her slightly. "Oh, my Rose," he murmurs. "The last thing anyone's..." Readjusts her so he's pressing against her aching sex, now, "gonna be doing..." She can feel him twitching against her body, can hardly breathe from the ache, "in this room..." Slips just the tip inside her, gasps just as she does, "tonight..." Rocks her slowly, too damn slowly, "is sleeping!" Tugs her hard, pushes with his hips at the same time.

Rose keens and the Doctor growls out her name as he is finally fully sheathed inside her. Rose feels as if she's been waiting for him for days; it's almost embarrassing how easily he slides into her. He seems completely proud about this and shoots her a brilliant, vibrant grin. She deliberately tightens her internal muscles and watches that grin slide right off his face. "Fuck," he mutters. His hips jerk up toward her. There's no rhythm to what they're doing, just desperation and hunger, a driving need to fall into each other and into this moment, to make it theirs forever.

The Doctor sits up without leaving her body, crushing her to him as he moves. Rose wraps her legs around him, buries her face in his shoulder, breathing him in with every gulp of air she can manage. He helps her move, moves with her, quickly builds a momentum that is driving her to the edge of her orgasm and her sanity. She can feel him thickening inside her - he's so close now, he's shaking, his whole body taut with tension. Her name is being decorated with urgent noise, with babbled profanity. She's screaming for him, clinging to him, just need... such a very... very... little bit... more...

His shout is nonsense, her name, and jangling bells, his semen is ice against her insides. The sensation throws her over, finally, and she convulses around him and against him as he shudders and can't seem to stop pumping into her. She sees light dancing behind her eyes, rocks against him and it isn't over even though she's come so hard she's flying without a TARDIS.

The Doctor has softened only a little as he pulls out of her, then he's turning them, laying her down, pressing kisses all along her chest and collar bones. Rose doesn't even know if she can remember her own name and all she can think is that he's so fucking beautiful like this. His eyes are squeezed shut, his teeth bared, and he's on her again, in her again, hard again, and she's glad because she didn't want to stop, ever, anyway.

She's gonna be sore as hell in the morning, but she's not capable of giving a damn as he hooks her knees with his elbows and starts the driving rhythm all over again. He's talking, again, but the blood is rushing in her ears so loud that she can't hear him. He could be lecturing in astrophysics (he's done that before) or telling her how much he loves her (even if he never uses English) or just swearing mindlessly, but she'll never know. She reaches down between them with a hand that's got nail prints in the palm, and she touches herself, touches him, too, every time he slides out of her.

His eyes fly open at this feeling and he looks down at her, eyes black like night and hungry. "Want you forever," he tells her, and she reads the words from his lips, and the truth in his eyes.

"My Doctor," she answers. She's nodding against the pillows, reaching for him with her arms. Her vision is blurry with tears as he drops her legs and lays his body over hers, his mouth covering hers and ending the words between them.

Their pace slows now to something like comfort, a soothing tenderness that tears her heart apart and puts it back together, cemented with their love. Oh, she knows, she's always known, but it's hard when neither of them dares to say the words.

The Doctor rocks her gently and it's all right now. She builds them languorously, touching him everywhere she can reach to let him know she's here now and always wants to be. When she comes this time it is quiet, so slow and so intense that she feels the whole Universe tilt on its axis before she ever comes back down. Her face is wet with tears and her shoulder is too as the Doctor comes to rest, at last, against her.

"Thought I was dead for a minute there," the Doctor tells her at last, when he is lying beside her and staring up at the ceiling above their bed. "Didn't want to leave you," he adds, looking at her now with all the words he will never say all written in his eyes. He holds her hand tightly, brings it to his lips.

They've had a good ten minutes to rest, and a wicked little smirk starts on her face. It finishes on his as she chews at her lip and watches his dark eyes dance. "You're not dead, Doctor," Rose promises. "An' I can prove that."

And she does.


End file.
